The modest successor to the "Floating Life" blogs

Menu

Milk, milk train, poetry – Part Two

Gas flaring on the yellow platform; voices running up and down;Milk-tins in cold dented silver; half-awake I stare,Pull up the blind, blink out – all sounds are drugged;the slow blowing of passengers asleep;engines yawning; water in heavy drips;Black, sinister travellers, lumbering up the station,one moment in the window, hooked over bags;hurrying, unknown faces – boxes with strange labels –all groping clumsily to mysterious ends,out of the gaslight, dragged by private Fates,their echoes die. The dark train shakes and plunges;bells cry out, the night-ride starts again.Soon I shall look out into nothing but blackness,pale, windy fields, the old roar and knock of the railsmelts in dull fury. Pull down the blind. Sleep. SleepNothing but grey, rushing rivers of bush outside.Gaslight and milk-cans. Of Rapptown I recall nothing else.

This blog may contain copyrighted material. Such material is made available for educational purposes, to advance understanding of human rights, democracy, scientific, moral, ethical, and social justice issues, etc. This material is distributed without profit.

The writings and opinions written on this weblog do not necessarily represent any organisation(s) the writer may be affiliated with.